


young and foolish

by seiteis



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Comedy, Fade to Black, First Love, M/M, Praise Kink, Yuri constantly insulting JJ, Yuri's drunken antics, alcohol is liquid courage, big brother JJ, insult kink too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiteis/pseuds/seiteis
Summary: In which Yuri learns JJ is much more than just tolerable when he is drunk.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gunboots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunboots/gifts).



> Alternative title, "B-b-b-lame it on the alcohol." Yuri is 18 and JJ is 22, for the record. 18 is generally legal drinking age in Europe.
> 
> This muse would not leave me alone so I got on my ass and wrote it. Dedicated to [gunboots](http://archiveofourown.org/users/choke/pseuds/gunboots), the true hero of this fandom and how we always enable each other with the good (nasty) JJ/Yuri headcanons.
> 
> Legit warning: It's been 10+ years since I last wrote fanfiction, and I am an old cranky fart with too many degrees unrelated to writing so things might get rough. 
> 
> Also shout out to [ceto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/choke/pseuds/ceto) and [choke](http://archiveofourown.org/users/choke/pseuds/choke) for the JJ/Yuri inspiration. You guys are also my heroes.
> 
> I'm sorry the dicks don't touch in this one but maybe in future installments, when I too, write under heavy influence. Please enjoy!

The opening of Christophe Giacometti’s new 32-story hotel in the heart of Amsterdam is the fourth and the most waited of his luxury hotel line following his retirement from figure skating. It's also the same month Yuuri Katsuki announces his engagement to Victor Nikiforov and subsequently, his retirement from competitive skating.

To celebrate the grand opening, Chris sent personal invitations to skater colleagues of his past. It was off-season so no one really had any right or excuse to refuse, and on top of being a cutting-edge architect with an eye for “sensual design,” Chris had recently made himself known for throwing outrageous jubilees. Truly, he had found his forte that he otherwise struggled to find in the skating world, and he was happier for it. 

Yuri isn’t sure why he accepted Chris’s invitation in the first place, but finds himself out of place in such a raucous atmosphere and crowd. He steps into the designated nightclub space of the basement of the hotel, an exclusive club for ‘only’ one hundred of Chris’s favorite guests. It would seem that Christophe was determined to solidly outdo the banquet of four years past, with poles installed in not one but five mini stages, complete with human sized cages and neon lights showering the scantily dancers with beams in syncopated rhythm.

It's dazzling and dizzying all the same--Yuri wants nothing more than to drink in peace.

Wary of the raving crowd buzzing in front of him, Yuri almost makes his way to the closest barstool for a fast reprieve. Unfortunately, a half-dressed Chris spots his leopard print jacket from at least a mile away, snaking his way through the crowd with such alacrity and force Yuri had no time to physically nor emotionally prepare himself for the enveloping hug that follows. Normally, Yuri would have protested but Chris was much stronger than he looked, and he found that he walked away with fewer bruises and less time spent in vicelike embrace if he learned not to actively resist Chris’s steel grip.

He does bristle visibly when he feels a tight squeeze on his butt cheek, once on the left and on the right. (“It’s not fair to the other cheek,” Chris would protest playfully, as Yuri briefly ponders something murderous.)

Mercifully, Chris releases Yuri from his grip, thanks him earnestly for coming and a staff member, who could have easily been mistaken for a supermodel, hands Yuri a tropical drink. A well-dressed, stern looking man in brown hair comes to whisper something in Chris’s ear, and he bids Yuri adieu. Yuri could not be more thankful for the distraction(s) and takes a long hard sip.

After Yuri polishes off the tropical drink, he orders two more drinks at the bar. He had been feeling pretty shitty all week and his performance on the ice reflected his mood, and while he appreciated the alcohol, the music was starting to give him an equally pulsing headache. It wasn’t even good club music (he would know), just deafeningly loud, and the acoustics were off because the venue clearly wasn’t meant to accommodate music of this decibel.

Regardless, it looked like the attendees were having fun and Yuri was just off in the corner, moping and being a sourpuss for personal reasons unrelated to his current situation, unable to be happy for a friend who was currently enjoying the golden years in his retirement from the skating world. What was life after skating? Yuri had never considered the possibility and could never even fathom it.

Chris is on the other side of the venue, his arm still hooked around the brown-haired man who had escorted him away, probably his lover. The way Chris entwines himself around the man was eerily reminiscent of a certain other pair, souring Yuri’s already bad mood to even worse. He swirls the cocktail cherry in his drink in distaste.

After gulping the last of his saccharine drink, Yuri stumbles his way out of the venue. He hadn’t realized how loud the music had been until he found his ears and mastoid vibrating from the sheer intensity. Shaking off the ringing in his ears, Yuri walks over to the gold-plated elevator adorned in god-knows what era of European architecture and decorum, and sighs in relief as the closing doors drowns out the last of booming club music.

\--

The elevator creaks to a slow ascent. Yuri stares languidly at the reflection in front of him. While he had grown a couple centimeters in height and filled out his lanky figure with more bulk, he hadn’t changed significantly since his senior division debut.

In part he is thankful for the growth spurt that had lent him a modicum of flexibility to maintain in his adult years, although he is not nearly as springy as he was in his youth. He is still sporting the same leopard print jacket, although his broader shoulders now fills out his jacket better and the sleeves are considerably shorter. His eyes are sharper, jawline more evident. His default expression of a scowl gifted him a slight vertical wrinkle between his eyebrows (that Victor fretted more over than the wrinkle bearer himself, and had sent for vials of anti-aging cream much to Yuri’s protest and clear disinterest. The man should take care of his receding hairline first.)

The elevator dings and stops at the lobby. Yuri probably should have expected this, considering Chris had designated the first four floors of his hotel as “festive floors” consisting of various themes of party entertainment. The doors open to a young Italian couple in gaudy tiki headdresses making out in plain sight. The couple breaks from their excessive embrace and finally notices the open elevator, but Yuri is impatient, scowling, and sending murderous vibes in every which direction. The young man decides wisely he and his lady could spend more time alive and in the hot tub, and escorts his lady off to the side.

Not even two floors later, the elevator dings again and comes to a halt. _This is the last of the party floors, please let me get to my room without having to maul someone on the way_ , he prays, to no god in particular. The pounding in his head worsened from the various lights and noises bombarding him every time the elevator opened to a new surprise, and he just wanted nothing more than to crash onto a bed and drown out the rest of the world.

As if the celestial beings above heard his prayers, the doors open to a sight he wasn’t quite expecting. A gaggle of girls dressed to the nines, giggling, and in the center of the foray, a tall presence decked in navy dress shirt and even darker, unnecessarily tight jeans, with an even more annoying laughter than the rest of the girls combined.

It only takes Yuri one glance at the figure to unthank any of the gods he had previously prayed to for a safe passage back to his room, because the heavens threw at him the most challenging, the most obnoxious obstacle of all.

Jean-Jacques Leroy.

The clacking of the elevator door draws JJ’s attention, and he turns around. Blue eyes met green, though Yuri immediately pulls on a most disgruntled expression as he shoots his glare to the side. JJ had grown out his stupid undercut, although his bangs were shorter and more trimmed. The perpetually smug expression remains stapled to his face. The Canadian's eyebrows go up almost comically as he notices the scowling Russian, and he opens his mouth with a booming, jovial voice that makes Yuri wish he had loitered at the loud basement club instead, bad music and all.

“Yuri! It’s been a long time!”

Yuri greets him by fervently pressing the Close Door button.

“Excuse me ladies,” The Canadian skillfully unwraps his arms around the dainty waists of two women, who protest and whine in unison. He holds open the closing doors and steps in right next to Yuri. “I’ll be right back to entertain you all.” The women wave at him and blow kisses; he winks and makes the signature stupid JJ style pose until the doors completely close and the women are out of sight.

Almost immediately, JJ turns to him excitedly. He reeks of smoke, booze, and various women’s perfumes, and it takes all of Yuri’s willpower to not cough.

“Yuri! It’s been a while.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“I know,” JJ croons. “I missed you.” Yuri clicks his tongue.

“You’re drunk.” He shuffles his right foot in place. He’s probably not wrong. “Also it hasn’t been that long. We were in London. Six months ago...”

“You looked magnificent in your free program.” He sounds uncharacteristically sincere and it unnerves Yuri.

“…but I guess since you didn’t even place, it didn’t matter,” Yuri retorts, barb obvious in his voice.

Losers don’t deserve to look victors in the eye. JJ had fallen off the center stage as of recent, and he knew it.

“Touché,” Yuri was hoping for more of a reaction, but it seems the bullet rolled right off his back. He changes topic. “Seems like you’ve been traveling recently. Is that why you haven’t respond to my texts?”

“No. And I don’t recall giving you my number.” But somehow JJ had traced Yuri’s number, probably through coaxing a very inebriated Victor or stealing his phone. In either case Yuri had a fair store of yelling and kicking left in reserve for his senior.

Although thinking back, he’s surprised JJ even knew about his traveling. It shouldn’t have been anything new—JJ followed his instagram like a hawk and sends him texts in response to every other photo. Yuri responds maybe one text to JJ’s every five, but usually in some combination of _fuck off_ or a selfie of him flipping the finger. JJ seems unfazed either way.

Suddenly, JJ reaches out in front of Yuri who holds his breath. “Almost forgot, I need to press the button for my floor.”

“…32?”

JJ winks at him. “It’s a suite! Come by and have a drink. You’re of drinking age now, right? We should celebrate!”

Yuri is about to lecture the Canadian on how in Russia, teenagers are no strangers to vodka as soon as they are old enough drive, but he is saved any wasted breath as the elevator dings and opens to his floor.

Finally.

“Pass. I’d rather drink with swine.” He takes three steps out and pauses, looking slightly over his shoulder in what he believes is a mildly friendly gesture. “Have a good night, I guess.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport, _chaton_. We can have our own little honeymoon.”

He feels his heart lurch forward and turns his head faster than he would have liked, “What the fuck are you talking about…?”

JJ looks over him, eyes studying the curve of the spine of the younger man in front of him, a fine silhouette thanks to years of intensive ballet and graceful no matter how oversized Yuri’s clothes.

JJ’s lips curve upward, and the tone is one of genuine curiosity. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t really know.” Yuri blurts honestly. He turns on his heel. “Why are _you_ here?

“Here to have a little fun. Is it not the same for you?”

“Just trying to distract myself, I guess.”

“You’re not happy the other Yuuri is retiring.” He states out without warning, as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world, and Yuri gasps loudly.

The older man pauses for a bit, clearly watching for the flux of emotions running rampant on Yuri’s face. Yuri doesn’t even know what expression he is making right now, but he’s afraid to even look. He feels naked and small and the alcohol buzz is preventing him from forming a full sentence, and his tongue feels fat and dull in his mouth. For someone usually so sharp-tongued, it makes him feel unarmed and defenseless, like a soldier without a gun in the battlefield.

JJ leans over flirtatiously as he uses his arms to prop the closing doors open a little longer. “I’ve known for awhile. It can be our little secret, _chaton_. Of all people, I personally think it’s cute you harbored a crush on Kats—“  
  
“That’s enough.” Before he had realized it, he had put both hands on JJ’s lips. He’s pretty sure he’s beet red right now, and he’s already made such a fool of himself with the over reaction at this point in the conversation he could not reasonably blame it on the alcohol now. He was such a fool. Fool, fool, fool.

“Mm,” JJ mumbles against Yuri’s fingers. The older man’s lips feel soft and the vibrations feel strange against his palms. He gingerly takes Yuri’s hands from his mouth and cups them in his stupidly large hands. “Okay, I’ll stop teasing. Come join me for a drink. Let’s talk.”

He’s looking straight into Yuri’s face with those murky, unreadable blue eyes and the latter can’t find it in his heart to do otherwise.

Yuri forcibly wrings his hands out of JJ’s grip, huffing as he crosses his arms and steps back inside the elevator. “Not talking. Just drinking.” He turns away so he doesn’t have to see the stupid grin plastered on JJ’s face.

The door closes and an odd silence hangs over them as the elevator ascends.

Yuri breaks the silence. “What are you doing with all those girls. I thought you had a fiancée.”

“That was a year ago. We parted ways.” JJ lifts his hand. No ring.

“Wow,” Yuri is genuinely surprised. “I guess she really did listen when I told her to find someone better.”

But the timeline fits—JJ started progressively performing worse about the same time then.

JJ laughs, “You’re probably right.” He remains quiet for the duration of the trip. Somehow this revelation is slightly (slightly!) endearing Yuri to JJ’s plight, in a fit of unfound sadism, more like. Who knew some jackass like JJ experienced heartbreak. Maybe they had more in common than he thought.

They reach the 32nd floor.

“What the hell,” upon opening the door to JJ’s suite, Yuri is blinded by the luxurious sight in front of him. The suite was at least five times larger than Yuri’s double, decked with a bear rug, chandelier, a minky white couch large enough to seat eight, theater-sized TV, giant windows that overlooked the streets of Amsterdam, small terrace, and even a real fireplace. Yuri skips around exploring every nook and cranny. It really looks like it came straight out of a celebrity living style magazine, like they just up and lifted the entire set design and inserted it into this penthouse.

“Let’s just say I invested a little,” JJ makes the sign for money with his hands, “Chris has an eye for buildings, and I trust his vision. Amsterdam is fun and it’s nice to own a suite I can always return to.”

“And check this out!” he says a little too excitedly, like a kid revealing his favorite robot toy. There’s a golden plaque on the wall between the main room and the kitchen that read, ‘JJ Style Lounge.’ In tacky cursive font, no less.

“How gaudy. And stupid,” Yuri adds, “Just like you.”

JJ just throws his head back and laughs, wholesome and unbridled. It’s unsettling. The way he never takes Yuri’s insults seriously makes him wonder if JJ just has really thick skin or Yuri needs to up the ante. He decides the latter might be more effective.

After exploring the enormous suite and its various enviable amenities, Yuri makes a beeline for the luxurious couch and plops contentedly. He immediately notices a leopard print throw and brings it closer to him. This was more his style.

“You want anything to drink? It looks like Chris and his staff left gifts,” JJ eyes the two bottles of champagne already chilled in a bucket and the fully stocked minibar. Impressive. Chris was not one to miss details or forgo personal attention to his VIPs. “Or do you want me to make you something? I make one mean Moscow Mule.”

“Mm…,” Yuri is more fixated on the larger than life TV and flipping through 100+ channels. “Surprise me.”

“Anything for you, lady,” JJ narrowly dodges a small cushion thrown at his direction.

Yuri makes himself at home, lying prone on the leopard print throw not unlike a domestic cat, and is quickly mesmerized by the flickering images on TV. He flips through the channels idly until an old movie catches his eye. Wait, he’s seen this one before. A feisty red-headed girl continuously rejecting advances of some rich bastard who keeps forcing himself on her, but she’s clearly infatuated. Women can be so foolish, he recalls Yakov muttering to himself, but before Lillia chastises him for forgetting to purchase milk for the second time that week, but still shoots him a shy smile when he slips her lilies after dinner.

Even at fifteen, Yuri knows it’s people in love who are foolish.

After what seems like ages, JJ sets two coasters and drinks down on the coffee table in front of him. He has changed into something more comfortable without Yuri noticing. A red, athletic mesh shirt that was either too small for him or he had bulked too much recently to fit into comfortably, and pair of thick grey sweatpants. Yuri props himself on his elbows and leers at him from the corner of his eyes.

“You’re going to woo girls with that outfit? Sweatpants?”

“I woo girls with my sterling personality,” flashing him a million dollar smile. A most canned JJ response--Yuri feels like he just walked right into that one. He rolls his eyes and snatches the drink from the table.

“Besides. I want us to talk. Just you. And me.” He articulates the last few words, drawing them out slowly.

Yuri dares not look JJ in the eye and takes a long sip from the drink to rid himself of the unsettling chill. He’s met with a refreshing delight to his palate. “This…is really good?” He takes another sip. “I can’t even taste the alcohol.”  
  
“Trade secret, but I can tell you it uses real cucumber extract and a little bit of sweetness.”  
  
“If you ever give up skating, you should just become a bartender.”

“Not anytime soon, _chaton_. But yes, I’m a man of many talents! Maybe one day I’ll open my own line of bars.” He seems pleased, if not elated by Yuri’s genuine compliment. Yuri could practically see his tail wagging. Sipping his drink quietly, Yuri makes a note to himself to keep the positive comments to his host sparse and rare, not unlike properly training an overeager puppy.

JJ takes an interest in what Yuri is watching on TV. “ _Gone with the Wind_ , eh?” It’s the first time he lets his Canadian slip. “A real classic. You’ve got good taste.”

His eyes wander around locate the remote control to Yuri’s left. He reaches across Yuri’s prone body; his chest and hand brushes against Yuri’s waist in this endeavor, and for god knows what reason, Yuri can feel heat rapidly pooling in his gut. The drink must be stronger than it tastes, he surmises not-so soberly.

“You could have just asked me for the remote.”  
  
“I know, but I’d be fresh out of an excuse to touch you.”

"Do you even hear yourself talk?" Yuri sits up cross-legged and finishes the rest of the drink in one shot, shoving the empty glass aggressively in front of JJ’s astonished face. He’s going to need more alcohol dealing with JJ. “Get me another one.”

JJ’s eyes widen in surprise and inspects the glass to make sure it’s empty, his lips mouthing a silent wow in response.

“You seem to be in better spirits.” The sarcasm is evident, but Yuri’s too drunk to care.

“Spirits make the disappointments go away.” Yuri hiccups, eloquently.

“Pace yourself tiger, I don’t want you getting sick on a momentous day for our dear friend.” He reluctantly gets up and makes his way to the bar.

“Fuck you, I’m a pure-blooded Russian, I can….handle a little cocktail or….eight.” Yuri feels his English starting to slur a little, but he’s feeling a lot better than he did an hour ago and in the past week.

If he could be on this buzz forever, it would be great. With each sip he drinks away his bitterness over his shitty jumps, shitty performance, and the wistful way the other Yuuri looked at him when he decided on quitting skating forever. Alcohol was going to be his best friend, forevermore.

JJ had settled on a neat scotch, of which he had barely touched because of the constant drinks he had to fetch his demanding guest. The little Russian had downed at least six drinks within the hour and his thirst was insatiable. He didn’t know someone so petite could handle so much alcohol, but knowing the younger skater he was probably made of tougher stuff than he looked.

The alcohol starts to loosen their lips, and JJ is the one to break the ice first. He admits to a lackluster performance in the past year, in part due to the break up with his ex-fiancée and his father’s sudden hospitalization that left him unable to attend JJ’s practices. He becomes animated when talking about his younger siblings, especially his younger sister who is a big fan of Yuri and has even enrolled in the Yuri Angels fanclub (“She might be more of a fan of you than of me,” JJ admits, the sadness of an older brother evident in his voice.)

Yuri talks about his grandfather and how his back pain had forced his hand to early retirement. He had saved up enough money to move his grandfather to a more comfortable lodging closer to the city so that he could visit more often. He talks about his rinkmates and his cat, and Yuri finds himself...actually enjoying the conversation, and finds that the way JJ’s eyebrows frame his face and his strong chin actually compliment his overall handsome countenance.

Maybe, just maybe, the years have mellowed JJ out and he’s actually not half bad a person.

The room starts to feel hot, Yuri strips off his leopard print jacket in favor of his new lion tank top and arranges his hair in a half ponytail (as messy as it was, he couldn’t be bothered to be neat). The room feels so warm and so fuzzy, his eyelids feel so heavy and droopy, he just wants to close his eyes for a bit….

\---

Yuri feels something brush intermittently against his left arm and tries to swat at it. He opens his eyes and found himself leaning against something warm and moving. He turned to his right to red…fabric? And something firm. He looks up to a chiseled profile looking straight ahead, blinks a couple times until his cloudy vision clears up and realizes he is looking at JJ. Somehow and some when, Yuri had fallen asleep in the crux of JJ’s arm and chest and the bastard was taking advantage of his vulnerability, idly stroking Yuri’s exposed shoulder while watching TV.

“What the fuck JJ,” Yuri croaks, and JJ is startled by his presence.

“You’re awake. Have a nice nap?” He squeezes Yuri’s shoulder affectionately.

“Are you trying to get me wasted so you can touch me without permission,” he growls. It comes out more of a statement than a question; he’s surprised at how that slipped out, but he manages to unhook JJ’s burlap sack of an arm from his shoulder and scoots far away.

“Sorry, sorry, bad cuddling habit.” He raises his guilty hand in surrender, but doesn’t sound the least bit sorry. Yuri fumbles around for his phone and firmly resists the trickling desire to chuck it at JJ’s forehead.

JJ looks a little more disheveled than when they first came to the room, and the scotch bottle on the table is suspiciously half empty.

Yuri feels something wet from the corner of his mouth and wipes away at it with the back of his hand. He probably drooled while he was napping…and becomes fixated on a tell-tale dark spot on JJ’s shirt. “I think drooled on your shirt…”

“It’s okay. It’s kind of cute,” JJ waves his hand and smiles at him. “You look like an absolute angel when you sleep.”

Cringey. Yuri is certain the Canadian has not a bone of shame in his body and wrinkles his nose in disgust as he gathers his belongings. “Is that the kind of lame ass pick up lines you use on girls?”

“Never. Just you, chaton.” _Ugh._

“You don’t seem to believe me. I even took a picture.” He flashes an image of a sleeping Yuri on his phone but snaps it out of Yuri’s reach before he can snatch at it. First, he’s going to snap that phone in half and next, JJ’s face. “Ah-ah. I promise I won’t upload it anywhere. But I guess can’t promise I won’t use it for blackmail.”

Whatever internal praise he had for JJ prior to blacking out Yuri takes back in full. JJ was still an ass and no amount of time could fix that kind of personality flaw.

“Besides,” JJ continues, in a forced, neutral tone that makes Yuri uncomfortably suspicious, “you’re the one who approached me first.”

Yuri opens his mouth in protest, but his mind swirls and his memory is fuzzy--he realizes he can’t remember anything from the hour. Or hours?

Fearful, he asks tentatively. “Did I do or say anything stupid?”

JJ raises one eyebrow.

“Say, or do?” _Pick your poison_ , it sounds like to Yuri and he frowns, expectantly waiting for JJ to finish. “You told me I had beautiful eyes and tried to kiss me.”

“There is NO way in hell I did any of that!” Hot blood rushes from Yuri’s cheeks all the way to the tip of his ears. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“I did, and then you cussed me out in Russian.”

“Don’t fuck with me!” He bats JJ with whatever is closest to him—a cushion, of all things. He’s probably as threatening as a kitten right now. Arms raised to shield his face, JJ bursts into laughter. He’s clearly enjoying seeing Yuri in torment.

“Okay, chaton, I’ll stop joking around. You didn’t say I had beautiful eyes,” the smugness is back on his face and Yuri wants nothing more than to smack it right off, but holds back, huffing.

“And I didn’t stop you the third time.” JJ seals his lips and shrugs, and returns his gaze on Yuri.

…

Oh.

…

It takes a while to settle in but the realization hits Yuri like bricks.

He kissed JJ. Willingly.

And he doesn’t remember any of it, probably for the better.

(He does what he think is best in light of this overwhelmingly embarrassing situation—flee.)

“….I’m leaving,” Yuri announces, and gets up abruptly but he swears the floor is swaying and fighting to make him stay, and he loses balance. JJ’s quick reflexes save him from plastering his face onto the floor. Yuri hates how strong and supportive his arms feel against his waist.

But the revelation that he kissed JJ is still hot on his mind and he feels warm just about everywhere, especially where his hand grazes against his body.

“Whoa there.” He steadies Yuri on his feet before letting go, tentatively. Yuri proceeds to topple over again so JJ holds him steady by the small of his waist. “Yeah. No. I don’t think you should go anywhere like this.”

Yuri grumbles in protest but JJ is right. The floor’s being a bitch and he’s in no mood or condition to fight. How gravity has forsaken him. Alcohol too.

“Listen, I think you’ve had a long night and you should probably get some rest.” The older brother tone is evident in his voice. “I’ll probably head back down to the party so it’ll be quiet here and you can rest. What do you say?”

The thought of having a nice suite all to himself while JJ is gone is alluring. Yuri nods absentmindedly. The older man gently takes his other arm behind Yuri’s legs and picks him up bridal style.

“What…” Yuri protests feebly, but is surprised how instinctively he grabs onto JJ’s neck in the transition.

“Wow, you’re pretty light,” JJ comments, doing a couple squats to prove his words.

Yuri elbows him in the chin. “Get me to bed before I throw up on your face, shithead.” JJ chuckles and walks them over to one of the guest rooms, gently placing Yuri on the bed. The sheets are much softer than the ones in his room, like sinking into a bed of clouds. He really should ask Chris for a suite next time.

“You should probably change into something more comfortable…”

JJ’s hands reach for the hem of Yuri’s shirt but Yuri slaps his hand away.

“If you touch my clothes I’ll kill you.” The threat is empty. JJ is unfazed, but removes his hand anyway.

“Can you undress yourself?”

Yuri stares at the ceiling for a while. Were the cherubs on the wall décor supposed to be dancing? Or making ugly, frowny faces at him? “Nope,” he responds, resolutely. Alcohol had made him more honest, probably.

He looks back at JJ and freezes realizing the compromising position they’re in. JJ’s hands are at Yuri’s sides, and he’s towering over Yuri and looking down at him with so much unfound affection and undisguised longing.

It’s so…raw.

The dull desire he had been suppressing at the base of his heart, it’s like JJ’s gaze has been drawing it out to light and exposing it to his scrutiny.

Yuri wants to look away. He has to. It’s too much. He doesn’t know how to deal with someone needing him, wanting him so openly. It’s almost disgusting.

Yuri finds an odd solace in studying the intricacies of the designer lamp situated at the corner of the room, all the while feeling JJ’s gaze bore through him, his heart, and soul. He wants to hide and make himself small, maybe even disappear.

But he can’t leave this hanging forever, and his eyes cautiously slide to JJ’s forehead and to his eyes. The black pool of desire is still there, swirling in all its intensity. Yuri almost feels like a wildfire has set afire in his throat, and he wants to do everything in his power to extinguish it. He feels out of breath, like time and time again in the last sequence in his free program.

With a sharp intake of breath and to Yuri’s relief, JJ breaks the silence.

“Yuri….earlier, you started talking to me about,” he pauses, watching Yuri anticipate his next words, so he settles. “Someone you used to look up to.”

“It’s all in the past,” Yuri says callously, the slight crack in his voice betraying him. “I guess just…don’t understand why someone would choose,” he searches for the right words, “ _human commitment_ , over something you worked your _entire_ life for.”

“Skaters are humans too. Humans need to feel needed and need other people.” He admits. “That’s what I neglected, and why my ex left me.”

Yuri looks at him.

“My first love was the ice. She’s a relentless lover who can either make or break you. I was foolish enough to think I could love two at once and instead, I lost both.” He continues, “I took a hard fall, and it was rough. And at the worst parts, I even considered quitting.” He scoffs. “Me, Jean-Jacques Leroy, quitting the ice. Unthinkable, right?”

“But I happened upon your skating videos, about a year ago when you were still struggling with your growth spurts. And that…accident you had in Moscow.” Yuri winces, he still remembers how one over-rotation led to a tumbling fall, and the worst performance of his skating career (the media even speculated “it was all over” for the Russian fairy) and still stung him to this day.

“But the next few months, you went radio silent on social media and placed bronze. Your performance was amazing, breathtaking. Nothing short of miraculous. You must have sweated blood and tears to get to that point. Yuri, you were the one who inspired me to continue skating and rekindle my love for the ice.”

“I never loved the ice,” Yuri admits. “It was all I had, and all I have. I just never felt like I could be good enough.” _To keep Yuuri from retiring_ , he adds silently.

JJ hums. “Your performance suggests otherwise. It’s reverent. Beautiful. I can watch you over and over again…” he trails off. “The scotch has got me babbling, I should really let you rest. But I want to ask you something.”

He brushes the hair from Yuri’s face and exposes his normally hidden right eye. Yuri feels naked and his breaths becoming shorter.

“Probably nothing I say or do will change your opinion, but I want…to hear straight from you while you’re here.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as he does so. His voice is as tender as his gaze, “Do you…hate me?”

His words say one thing but his eyes say another. _I want you. I need you._

JJ is almost as breathless as he is, although neither of them have moved as much as an inch in the past few minutes, but Yuri can feel the desperation in his voice and rumbling in his chest.

Yuri isn’t used to someone putting out his raw emotions like this, so openly displayed in all its roughness and to its unpolished core. The ball was in his court. He could stomp on those feelings and put out the fire forever. He could reject him right then and now. He could ridicule JJ for making moves on him, another man, another competitive skater. A foreigner. Someone not even in his twenties. Someone who has solidly beat him to the podium in the past three years.

People in love were stupid. But they weren’t in love, right? Just drunk, young, and stupid.

For once in his life, Yuri decides to voice what’s been locked inside his heart.

“No, I don’t hate you.” Yuri responds and adds as an afterthought, “Shithead.”

“You’re annoying as fuck sometimes. And obnoxiously loud. But you’re stupidly sincere about everything you do and you ‘love’ so easily. How you’ve come so far on that feeling alone is baffling. To me.”

It’s the most truthful he has been in a while and it’s liberating.

“You’re a great older brother and dedicated son. And a good competitor. I can’t believe you’re stupid enough to not give yourself credit on the ice as a figure skater and some of the ridiculous jumps you’ve accomplished in the past.” Yuri has completely forgotten about his promise to himself to hold back on the praise, but JJ looks more shocked than happy.

The alcohol coursing through his system lets him continue unabashedly, “You’ve inspired me to perform better too. Multiple times. I want to see you at your best again and fight you for a place on the podium. So no, I don’t hate you. Stupid.”

With the strength he didn’t know he had, Yuri forcibly pulls JJ down by his shirt and their lips clash. Definitely not as elegant as he would have hoped, but JJ’s eyes widen all the same. He slides his hand behind Yuri’s head, gently easing him into kiss as he slides his tongue past his lips. Yuri isn’t sure what he’s doing so he lets JJ lead, letting him explore the cavern of his mouth and crevasse of his tongue. He feels JJ’s hands roam his body, and he has never felt so good before and the new sensations flood every bone in his body. They break apart after a while, reluctantly, as if air should be secondary when they’re so entangled in each other.

“Also you’re not ugly,” Yuri adds, breathless.

“It’s always a surprise with you, _chaton_ ,” JJ chortles, licking his lips, and Yuri’s eyes follow his tongue as it glides past his lower lip, wanting and desiring the glossy sheen more than ever. “I’ve never been so praised _and_ insulted while locking lips with someone.”

“Someone’s gotta tell you your new haircut looks hideous.” He’s smiling and lying, and JJ knows it.

JJ strips off his shirt rapidly and tosses it to the side. Yuri fills his eyes on the chiseled body in front of him, blinking several times to take in the sight. “Hmm. I’m wondering what you have to say about my new tattoos.”

Yuri squints at the black ink on JJ’s left pec. It can’t be oh no, wait, it is. It’s JJ, he shouldn’t expect anything of higher quality. “‘I love Mom’?” He asks, incredulously. This has to be a joke. “Real classy—guaranteed to drive all the girls away.”

“Well then,” JJ continues, his voice as sultry as his expression. “Let me show you what makes them stay.” He leans onto Yuri heavily, and whatever insult Yuri had prepared for him is lost under the covers.

\--

Yuri wakes up first, and the first thing he notices is how much he smells like JJ. He frowns at first, but begrudgingly acknowledges it’s a real intoxicating scent and how he…likes it. It’ll be a while before he admits in full.

The other skater has his arm wrapped around Yuri’s waist. As quietly as possible, Yuri peels off his arm but JJ stirs awake and mumbles.

“Leaving already?”

“Gotta start training,” he responds, looking for the remnants of his clothes scattered all over the room and in the next. How the hell did his boxers get on the ceiling fan. His aching hips tell a different story.

“I should join you,” JJ yawns, stretches to shake off the sleep and his intercostal muscles ripple visibly throughout the process. Yuri catches himself staring and looks away.

“You’ll be distracted.”  
  
“I know,” he winks. “That’s the point.” Yuri kicks him under the covers.

“You’re back to normal,” Yuri concedes. “Maybe you’ll be back to biting bronze in a few months.”

“Don’t worry, _chaton_. I plan to be by your side on the podium, no matter what the results,” he purrs, leaning forward to plant kisses on Yuri’s shoulders.

It’s cheesy and stupid, but it’s what makes JJ. For the first time in a long time, Yuri genuinely laughs, and turns around to return the kiss.

It seems Yuri’s just as foolish.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "Sorry, sorry" was the closest I can get to _mengo mengo_ , something JJ says a lot because, well, Mamo.
> 
> 2\. Real cucumber extract is a delicious way to mask the taste of alcohol and a quick road to getting you sick as a dog because you don't realize how much you've been drinking. (source: me)
> 
> 3\. This premise is sprouting off of Kubo-sensei's interview about how she wants Yurio to be "more frank about being needed and needing other people."
> 
> 4\. Pls talk to me on twitter @seiteis if you love Yurio. uwu
> 
> Comments, critiques, kudos appreciated!


End file.
